


Coy Mistress

by Justgot1



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Contains some Spanish!, F/F, Femslash, Genderswap, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justgot1/pseuds/Justgot1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mmm … how do I love thee, let me count the ways?”</p><p>“Oh my god. How you ever got a girl into bed on <i>one</i> continent is a mystery,” Sherlock sighed. </p><p>----</p><p>In which Sherlock thinks she's smoov and Joanie schools her.</p><p>----</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coy Mistress

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Vespers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/577605) by [peevee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peevee/pseuds/peevee). 



> -
> 
> And now for something _completely different!_ My attempt at lighthearted, schmoopy fare for an early Valentine's Day. 
> 
> Caution: contains poetry because CHICKS DIG POETRY. So, I made them both chicks. It seemed right.
> 
> Unlike pretty much everything else I have on here, it is 100% angst free, everyone is happy, and all ends well. For everyone. Yay!
> 
> Thank you [Breathedout](http://archiveofourown.org/users/breathedout/pseuds/breathedout) for the Beta!
> 
> [NOW WITH STREAMING PODFIC!](http://justgot1.tumblr.com/post/42345751955/ahhh-my-return-to-podficcing-via-audacity-not)
> 
> \---

“Come to bed,” Joan murmured, nosing the nape of Sherlock’s neck where her hair was swept up in a loose and curly knot.

Not moving from her microscope, Sherlock mumbled “busy.”

“Hmmm. You’ve been there all day. Come, come, come. Come … live with me, and be my love.”

Sherlock snorted. “I already do that.”

“I will make thee a bed of roses.”

Joan could see Sherlock’s cheek round with a small smile. “Really? Has that ever worked for you?”

“Mmm … how do I love thee, let me count the ways?”

“Oh my god. How you ever got a girl into bed on _one_ continent is a mystery,” Sherlock sighed. Pushing away from the table and turning in the circle of Joan’s arms, she pressed her lips to the dip under Joan’s ear and whispered, “because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.”

Joan smiled and walked them backwards, through the kitchen door and down the short hallway to the bedroom, smile widening as Sherlock moved her mouth to Joan’s collarbone and murmured “kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity, your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages…”

Sherlock pressed her down onto the bed, where she began to unbutton Joan’s blouse. “My hands, open the curtains of your being...” Her tongue dipped into the hollow of Joan’s throat and trailed down into the furrow between her breasts. Joan drew in a sharp breath and pressed her head into the pillow. “... clothe you in a further nudity, uncover the bodies of your body.”

Joan hummed a long sigh and rolled them over, pushing Sherlock’s blouse up her belly to press her lips between the wings of Sherlock’s ribcage. “You are, the seal of the scorched year,” she told Sherlock’s skin, “the carnal firebrand, the star fruit, in you like sun, the hour rests.”

Sherlock tipped her head up and narrowed her eyes. Joan fought a smile and smoothed her cheek down Sherlock’s stomach to nibble softly at the pout of her belly button. “No sólo es luz que cae sobre el mundo, lo que alarga en tu cuerpo su nieve sofocada,” Joan whispered to the pale plane of Sherlock’s abdomen, "sino que se desprende de ti la claridad como si fueras encendida por dentro. Debajo de tu piel vive la luna.”

Sherlock snapped up onto her elbows, glaring. “All right. What was her name.”

Joan twirled her tongue in Sherlock’s navel, looking up coquettishly through her eyelashes. “Paloma.”

“Just _which_ American continent was one of the three?”

“That would be telling.”

“It’s _always something._ ” Grabbing Joan by her gaping blouse, Sherlock dragged her up until they met face to face. She pressed her mouth hard against Joan’s, demanding, clutching their bodies tightly together with a splayed hand to Joan’s lower back. Joan huffed a laugh into Sherlock’s mouth, and with a menacing growl Sherlock turned them again to put Joan on her back. 

“I want you to close your eyes,” she said in a husky whisper, sliding her fingers down into the vee of Joan’s legs, “and think. _Of England_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Poems quoted:  
> Andrew Marvell, _To His Coy Mistress_ (Title)  
>  Christopher Marlowe, _The Passionate Shepherd To His Love_  
>  Elizabeth Barrett Browning, _Sonnet 43_  
>  Pablo Neruda, _Love_ (in translation)  
>  Pablo Neruda, _Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon_ (in translation)  
>  Octavio Paz, _Touch_ (in translation)  
>  Octavio Paz, _Summit and Gravity_ (in translation)  
>  Pablo Neruda, _Oda a la Bella Desnuda_ or, _Ode to the Beautiful Nude_ (Rufus Seavell translation):
>
>> It is not only light that falls over the world,  
>  Spreading inside your body it's suffocated snow...  
> So much as clarity...taking it's leave of you  
> As if you were on fire from within.  
> The moon lives in the lining of your skin.  
> 


End file.
